


as they emerged from the killing fields

by turtle_abyss



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, But for everyone y'know, Developing Friendships, Dissociation, Fugue, Gen, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Whump, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, everybody needs a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27210034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtle_abyss/pseuds/turtle_abyss
Summary: Zuko redirects his father’s lightning. Giddy with anxious disbelief, he runs for the prison to free his uncle. The Imperial Guard ensures he doesn’t make it that far.He is returned to his father’s loving arms. Forcefully.Avatar Aang defeats Phoenix King Ozai. Then he and his friends converge on the Fire Nation capital in what feels like a hollow victory for the next struggle. Healing.
Relationships: Hakoda & Katara & Sokka (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 119
Kudos: 811
Collections: ATLA Big Bang 2020





	1. if we are victorious in one more battle, we shall be utterly ruined

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Here's the monstrous hurt/comfort fic I promised way back when I posted Restored Honor. I hope y'all like it. I'm gonna be doing weekly updates.  
> MASSIVE thanks to my betas - aerugonian, shelbychild, and burnt-oranges on tumblr. They've been absolutely fantastic. I really cannot thank them enough. Their feedback has been so good and SO thoughtful. It's made this fic a lot better imo. Actually, not even opinion, because at one point Sokka was in three places at once. What can I say? He's talented.  
> Also my artists - [afrosteampunkwriter](https://afrosteampunkwriter.tumblr.com/post/633189828258889728/art-for-as-they-emerged-from-the-killing-fields) and little_wight_fox! (I will add in their art once it's up! We're not rushing them.)

“Tell me how you redirected lightning.”

Zuko bites his tongue. He’s not saying a damn thing. He won’t give his father any more power. Not even over Azula.

The shackles are cold around his wrists and the stone wall is cold against his back, but Father’s hand around his arm burns.

Zuko doesn’t scream. Can’t scream anymore.

Doesn’t look at Father either.

Those are dangerous eyes.

Instead, he pretends.

He pretends it’s Uncle teaching him how to properly make tea. Hand on his arm to keep him from pouring too fast. He pretends they’re in the Jasmine Dragon and they’re happy and at peace.

He pretends Uncle is wrapping him in a hug. Uncle is warm. Uncle is safe. Uncle cares about him.

He pretends he never betrayed Uncle.

He pretends Father didn’t - didn’t -

The burn hurts.

He should’ve been more careful making the tea. A lesson learned.

_'A lesson you never learn,'_ his traitorous mind whispers in a voice like his sister's.

Maybe if he hadn’t spoken out - 

But he had.

_“Suffering will be your teacher,”_ Father had said.

But didn’t Father know?

It always had been.

He just never learned.

* * *

Mai listens to Azula speak of the plan to burn down the Earth Kingdom indiscriminately and feels numb with horror.

"But what about the colonies?" Ty Lee asks, her sweetness tempered by what Mai thinks might be the same dread she feels.

Azula shrugs, uncaring. Mai's fingers twitch towards her knives. "It was too risky to send messenger hawks. And evacuating colonies might have tipped off the rebels. Their noble sacrifice towards the progress of the Fire Nation will be memorialized later."

Her jaw hurts from how hard she is clenching her teeth. "My family is still in New Ozai," she whispers.

"Oh please," Azula scoffs. "We all know you hate your parents."

"My brother is with them." Tom Tom is with them. She wants to cry. She wants to cry so badly. But it's too dangerous and she will not allow it. Azula has always twisted her emotions to suit her own amusement. Especially, when she’d been able to use Mai to embarrass Zuko. She’s already said too much by singling out her brother.

"Ugh. Brothers." Azula drapes herself over her new throne with confident carelessness. "Honestly, Mai, you're better off without him. You've seen how Zuko turned out." 

"I'm leaving," Mai replies flatly, turning sharply on her heel.

"You won't get there in time." And she says it so honestly, so plainly, that Mai itches to bury a knife in her eye. Azula only stops lying when the truth hurts worse, apparently.

"I don't care." And it's maybe the first time Mai has ever said that and actually cared so, so much. She might burn up with her family, but better that than the guilt.

"Guards, stop her," Azula orders lazily, rolling her eyes, as though she thinks Mai just needs a minute to come to her senses. Except it feels like she finally has. She hates it.

She pins one guard to the wall with her knives and dodges another swiftly. She readies another set to pin that one as well.

Only for Ty Lee to jab him solidly in the neck.

Mai freezes. Shocked.

There’s no way Ty Lee is choosing her over Azula. Not with her sisters on the line. Not when she’s always been so cheerfully loyal.

"Ty Lee, what are you doing?" Azula hisses dangerously behind them, finally angry. She sits up properly in the throne and the sides of it smolder and smoke under her clenched fingers.

Ty Lee grabs Mai by the sleeve and _runs._

* * *

He remembers the Jasmine Dragon. The smell of tea and flowers and people. His uncle's smile. The joy in his eyes. How, for once, Zuko had felt content. At peace. Something that might become happiness, given a little more time to heal from...well, from his life.

He tries not to think about his life.

Not his mother's disappearance or his father's ongoing cruelty or the guard's hands forcing food down his throat.

No.

Better to stay in the Jasmine Dragon. Carefully maneuvering around tables and chairs and careless bag placements to give Miss Yun her daily cup of jasmine tea and the spiceberry cake they order from the bakery down the road. She asks after his uncle and he makes faces at her tone that make her laugh.

She always comes near his break so that she can insist he share the cake with her. She claims he's too skinny. He makes more faces about that but doesn't disagree or decline. He admits that he was ill recently and apologizes for the resulting shop closure and lets her fuss over him. 

Uncle likes her. Or likes that she's nice to Zuko. Or maybe one feeds into the other.

He tries not to think of it.

Tries not to think of how the cake tastes like overdone rice and vomit.

The teapot is Uncle's favorite. A white lotus - its petals gone yellow from use with the rest of the teapot. There are tiny cracks in the clay near the top edge. Uncle rinses it with jasmine tea and quietly confides more secrets of tea-making and ancient ceremonies. 

He doesn't listen. He doesn't listen to much these days.

Uncle's murmuring is soothing, though.

If he pretends hard enough, he tells himself, he can stay here with Uncle in Ba Sing Se. 

There's no war in Ba Sing Se.

There's no Fire Lord in Ba Sing Se.

It's safe in Ba Sing Se.

His father sneers down at him, but Zuko has made walls any earthbender would be proud of.

The sun is gone anyway.

No more fire.

He may as well learn to bend the earth. It's all he'll ever see again.

* * *

Katara takes on Azula alone. She deflects wild blue fire and catches lightning in water bent away from her. _Water conducts electricity_ , Iroh had told her with a gravity that Katara had understood.

His eyes had been sad when he looked to the horizon in the direction she knew his home was.

Azula screams in her bonds and spits fire and _loses her mind_ and Katara feels rage and pity in near equal measure. She asks where Zuko is, knowing that the fight is not over and steeling herself against the memory of Iroh's grieving eyes.

Zuko betrayed them. Zuko nearly killed Aang. Zuko chased them and threatened them and left a trail of fire behind him. Zuko tricked her, for just a moment, into thinking there was good in him. Rage is so much easier than remembering Zuko as someone Iroh could love. She can’t let Iroh’s nostalgia fool her.

Azula _laughs._

When she stops, she looks at Katara with a sobering, assessing gaze and then her mouth pulls into a wide smirk that reminds Katara that the girl is insane.

"Wow, you really hate him, huh?" she sings. "Poor Zuzu. Hated by everyone in the world but a doddering old fool who's pretending he's Lu Ten." The fake honeyed tone drips from her mouth like viper venom as her expression twists into a mocking sympathy for her enemy. 

Katara doesn’t know who Lu Ten is, but she can guess. It doesn’t matter right now. She glares.

"Well, you won't have to worry about him," Azula drawls, eyes delighted.

"Where is he?" Katara demands, spitting her own cold poison and pulling the water up around Azula once more. "Don't make me ask again."

Azula laughs at her once more. Katara tightens her water bonds enough to hurt, but it only makes the princess gasp and giggle. "So angry! You'd have been a remarkable firebender. What a shame."

Katara wants to scream and lash out and has to stifle that ugly ugly urge to bend Azula's blood until she's begging. Has to remind herself that she's better than that. That she's better than Azula. Better than Hama. Better than all the monsters she's seen in this war.

"You won't find him!" Azula snarls into the stony silence, digging for a reaction, goading Katara into breaking just like her.

Katara gives her nothing.

"Father hid him away! Even I don't know where!" Azula taunts desperately. 

Katara closes her eyes.

Of course. Of course, there would be some secret hideaway for the Crown Prince. For Ozai's legacy. His bloodline's last claim to the throne. 

Katara kicks a piece of cobblestone and sits in the broken courtyard to tiredly contemplate her next course of action. Aang and the others likely won't make it to the Caldera for several hours at least. Zuko's next in line for the throne and hidden away - probably outside of the city. She can’t keep wasting energy on trying to get answers out of Azula. And she’s above torture anyway.

She needs to conserve her energy - whether to fight a returning Zuko or to heal injuries when her friends catch up. She looks longingly at the burning sky in the distance and wishes she weren't alone. Prays for her friends' safety.

She needs to find out where Zuko is. She needs to end the last threat. Even if she’s lying about not knowing, Azula wouldn’t tell her anything.

But there’s probably a servant inside that she can scare into telling her. Those Fire Sages from earlier had to have run off somewhere.

Azula shrieks after her as she heads into the palace.

She's not prepared for the darkness and death inside. The shadows twist in the torchlight of the one lit sconce she'd managed to find and slice from the wall. She startles at false foes and living shadows that are revealed to be very dead servants.

She trips over a helmet and stumbles backwards at the burnt husks of guards, feeling sick. Something shiny glints in one of the bodies and Katara closes her eyes against the sight of tiny knives embedded in the walls.

Are knife girl and the acrobat _here_ or did they flee with the servants? Katara takes the corners with a renewed caution and opens every door with a whip of water at the ready.

But there's no one.

She'd thought the Fire Palace would have a lot more fire and a lot more servants, even if they _had_ run and hidden away. Instead, she finds nothing. No one.

Just a lot of dead bodies.

Azula laughs at her.

Katara firmly reminds herself that she is a better person and only knocks Azula out a little.

She should search more of the palace. Azula might have been lying about Zuko. Leaving Azula alone again is definitely a bad idea, though. But having Iroh be here while they fight his nephew, or even him having to step in to fight his nephew, seems unnecessarily cruel. Even for Fire Nation karma.

But she doesn't want to go back in there with the bodies and the ghosts and the smell of burnt flesh.

She can’t.

Hours pass.

Zuko does not appear.

Nor do any soldiers or servants.

Nor does Aang.

She's tired.

Azula stirs.

"You really don't know where your brother is?" she asks, letting her worry turn back into cold, hard fury once more. She does not look at her captive at all.

Azula snorts in a very unladylike fashion. It matches her bad makeup and her shorn, uneven hair, Katara thinks uncharitably. 

"You want revenge bad, don't you? Well, little water peasant, allow me to grant you a reward for your victory over me - other than my ruined pride and sullied honor, that is." And though her words are sarcastic and mocking and bitter, Katara looks at her expectantly and receives yet another mad, sadistic grin. _"Sweet little Zuzu probably already wishes he were dead."_

Katara rolls her eyes and shakes her head and looks back at the sky. A lie. Or a half-truth. Zuko will undoubtedly be wishing so with Ozai and Azula defeated and them coming for him next, knowing that he's no match for them.

She puts a hand to Azula's forehead again and pushes her back into sleep.

She's tired of lies and laughter.

* * *

Sokka's never been so happy to see his sister. His beautiful, pain in the ass, prodigy waterbender little sister. Alive and well and standing next to a chained-up Azula. The sweetest sight for sore eyes.

Spirits, he’s going to be so sore tomorrow.

If he hugs her a little more tightly than usual, well, Katara's doing the same. It's not tears of relief he wipes from his eyes after. No, it's just the smoke. The smoke from the burning palace. Because half the palace is totally on fire. Katara’s such a badass. He’s so proud of her.

Katara leaves him to hug Aang and Toph bends the chains around Azula into something much more secure.

"And what of my nephew?" Iroh asks quietly, breaking the happy reunion with a fragility that makes them all uncomfortable.

Katara shakes her head and tells them what Azula said.

Sokka tries to dredge up more determination and fighting spirit, but mostly he's just too darn tired. And his leg hurts. 

Iroh gets a strange look on his face. A weird twist of despair and hope and pure willpower to keep going until he's shattered inside and out. Sokka gets it. He wants to find his dad and he won't believe the worst until the evidence destroys him.

He wonders what hidden side of Zuko got Iroh to love him this damn much, because he's sure never seen it.

A plan is made to search the palace. Aang offers to scout from the air. Katara and Toph go with Iroh.

"I'll just stay here and guard Crazy Blue," Sokka says casually, as though he doesn't desperately want to keep helping. To protect these people he loves. As though his knuckles aren't white around his crutch at the thought of being alone with the demon princess. As though he's not terrified that he's sending them to a danger he can't protect them from. 

They've been riding a high of victory. He can't help but feel that the other shoe is about to drop on them.

Katara makes a vague threat about healing his leg as she leaves. It doesn’t soothe his nerves.

It doesn’t warm the ice in her eyes either.

Sokka hopes that whatever they find will bring her some peace for the rage she's been harboring lately.

(It doesn't.)

* * *

Aang finds nothing. Everything seems so empty, even from the air. No one in the streets around the palace. No one on the grounds. Not even a single soul tending to the fires burning around the courtyard they met Katara in. 

He'd thought the Fire Nation would be reveling in the power of the comet.

Instead it's eerily quiet. He shivers in the hot air and bends a downdraft to follow into the only occupied garden. His favorite spot of blue in the world.

She greets him with a firm touch to his arm and a strained smile and he shakes his head wordlessly. They start going over a new plan. Iroh knows the way to the underground bunker. Toph reaches down and feels two guards running on the very edge of her senses and nothing else.

They go to investigate.

Just in case Zuko's being very still on top of some wood or something. Or maybe the guards will have information.

He hopes they'll have information. He has a bad feeling about this.

Iroh leads them to a large room made to imitate the throne room, complete with red curtains and braziers and golden dragons twisting around pillars. There's an air of disuse in the dust covering everything.

Aang wonders if this is where Ozai was hiding during the eclipse. Wonders if Toph would’ve been able to find him if Azula hadn’t gotten in their way. There’s no real way of knowing. He tries to tell himself not to dwell on what-if’s. Ozai and Azula have been defeated. Everything's working out.

Everything's going to work out, he tells himself again. It has to. They've come so far.

His fingers flex around his glider.

Toph leads them to a door on the other side, and beyond it is a long, deep cavern going down and down and down into darkness. It echoes with their footsteps and their breathing and whispers like ghosts.

They go down and down and down until the air is chilled like early winter instead of the heat of a volcano held back by the earth and it crawls unsettlingly down his spine.

"Something is wrong," Iroh murmurs, visibly uneasy, and Aang thinks he didn't mean for anyone to hear, only the echoes ensured they all heard. And then, up ahead, there's a light that isn’t his or Iroh's and they can hear quiet, hurried voices. 

He hopes this isn't another trap.

He really really hopes this isn't another trap.

Toph holds up two fingers. Iroh dims the flame in his hand and Aang does the same. Behind them, he knows, Katara has her hand on the cork of her waterskin.

They pause as the tunnel bends sharply up ahead and the whispers gain clarity over the sound of metal on metal.

_" - only going to be distracted for so long!”_

_“She might've lost.”_

_“Sure. And this poor kid might be blessed by Agni.”_

_“She’s been unstable lately.”_

_“She always has been. Now focus!”_

_"You sure he's not already dead?"_

_'I'm not."_

_"Zhal's been on duty."_

_"Look, my cousin won't ask too many questions. Kid just has to make it that far."_

_"You think he will?"_

_"He has to."_

Sifu Iroh steps around the corner and flares the spark in his hand so it lights the whole hall and obscures his face.

“What are you gentlemen doing all the way down here?” he asks, and there’s a dangerous edge to his benign words. One of the guards freezes in place, kneeling in front of a solid metal door with a pick in the lock of it. The other draws his sword, though it wavers.

"Who goes there? Identify yourself!"

Sifu Iroh dims the fire, and Aang shivers at the eerie way the shadows carve his face into stone.

“General Iroh?” the guard with the sword gasps, and accidentally drops his sword with a loud echoing clang. The other gets up off his knees and lights a fist with a wide stance.

“What is behind that door?” his sifu asks forebodingly, taking one step forward.

Toph tugs on his sleeve. “It’s a person,” she tells them, frowning.

“ _Who_ is behind that door?” Iroh corrects himself, but there’s a rage in his voice Aang has never heard before. What does he know that the rest of them don’t?

“The prisoner is -”

“Open the door,” Iroh commands impatiently, striding up to them confidently and the firebending guard drops back to his knees with the lockpick in his shaking hands. Toph scoffs and shoves him out of the way, then rips the door back, metal shrieking.

The smell hits them first - filth and burnt flesh and blood - and Toph rears back and retreats back down the tunnel, gagging. Aang and Katara almost follow her, but curiosity and dread hold them fast.

Iroh steps into the cell without hesitation, fire held high, and Aang sees a bone-thin form huddled in the back corner of the cell, limbs shackled and dark head limp. Gold eyes shine in the light. 

No.

“Zuko?” Iroh whispers, heartbroken and horror-struck. _“No.”_

* * *

(The guards are early, Zuko thinks, and retreats behind his walls.)

The Jasmine Dragon gets a lot of students from the university - usually looking for some measure of calm in the midst of their exams. In the middle of the week, when business is slow, there's a small group that takes the corner table in the back and spends the evening in hot debate across a multitude of subjects.

They're his favorite customers.

Not just because they're polite or because they tip well, but because they're _interesting._ The topics have ranged from a spirit library in the desert ("Spirits, what I wouldn't give to see all that knowledge." and "But are spirits even real? No." "Beimi, you son of a-") to identifying the weaknesses in monarchies to "Sure, we could potentially harness lightning. But should we?"

He'd dumped tea on Beimi's head when the man turned to him about "getting the opinion of the uneducated" and gotten the scolding of his life from Uncle, but the others had only laughed. They'd dragged Beimi back the next week and begged Zuko to do it again.

He brings them ginseng this week, along with one of Uncle's experimental house blends that they try in exchange for a discount.

"This one won't poison us, will it, Li?" Miru asks with a wry, but cheerful, grin as she accepts the cup he pours her.

"Spirits, I hope it does!" Kumal groans from his depressed slump across the table. "Li, don't ever go to university."

Zuko snorts and hands him the house blend anyway.

"Sweet poison, release me from this hellish earth!" Kumal proclaims dramatically when Miru gags on her first sip, before downing the whole thing in one go and then flopping back onto the table. Beimi pats him on the back. Zuko pours him another cup.

_"Zuko!"_

Zuko freezes. The students don't react. Zuko chances a glance back at where his Uncle is in the kitchen.

_"Zuko!"_ he hears his uncle call again.

They don't use real names here. Not ever. He's Li here.

He runs to the kitchen, dreading the worst, but Uncle is fine. He's humming and making tea and he smiles at Zuko.

_"Zuko, I'm here. I'm here now. You're okay."_ The words don't fit right in Uncle's mouth. He sounds like he's crying but he's not.

_"Zuko, you must wake up from this waking dream. You must come back to me."_

Zuko closes his eyes, dizzy, and sees his uncle - older and harder and impossible- backed by the Avatar and his friends.

Behind them is a guard.

He opens his mouth to warn them.

A hand presses to his elbow. He opens his eyes.

"Are you alright, Nephew?" Uncle asks with a smile, wiping his other hand on his apron. Uncle is **here** , he reminds himself firmly. Uncle is fine. They’re safe here. Everything is -

"Fine," he answers back softly. "I'm going to go sit out back for a moment."

"Well, alright." Uncle pats his arm and steps aside. "Just take out the trash with you!" 

It's quiet outside. The sky is black. There’s a chink in the wall.

_"What's wrong with him?"_ he hears distantly, but doesn't see anyone outside in the dim lamplight. Maybe from a nearby shop? 

He shrugs. It doesn’t matter. He takes a deep breath to steady himself.

The wall is whole and high.

The voices don't come back.

He goes to serve more tea.

* * *

Aang tries not to stare at Zuko, cradled gently in his uncle’s arms. Tries not to walk too fast. Tries not to feel overwhelmed by panic and worry and self-doubt and defeat. This isn’t the victory he imagined. This isn’t how things were supposed to turn out.

The guards show them to the palace infirmary. It’s mercifully undamaged by Katara’s fight with Azula and she’s quick to send the guards for buckets of water. Iroh lays Zuko ever so carefully on an available bed. 

And then Katara kicks them out, looking furious and beautiful and vaguely ill and fiercely determined, and Aang stares at the door feeling useless and ineffective. Even Iroh, desolate and helpless in the face of what had been done to his nephew, was asked to leave.

So now they wait. And Iroh does what he can.

Aang feels sick to his stomach as the guards confess to Iroh everything that's happened.

And it is a confession. The guards look almost as sick as he feels.

_Zuko, turning on his father's ideals during the eclipse once and for all._

_Zuko, saying he was going to go teach the Avatar firebending._

_Zuko, going to free his uncle but being too late._

_Zuko, tortured by his own father and locked away beneath the palace._

_Zuko, deprived of the life-giving sun._

_Zuko, alone in the dark and so tired and hurt and afraid that he retreated from reality and stopped responding to everything._

“He didn't even scream,” a guard recounts faintly.

"And the Fire Lord just kept going," the other says, looking ill.

Iroh looks like every word is a knife he must bear in his flesh.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Aang has to leave.

He can't listen anymore.

Part of him thinks he should. That this is yet another failure he must bear. If he hadn't been so selfish, if he hadn't run away from his responsibilities, maybe Zuko would be okay. Maybe Azula wouldn’t be so twisted and broken. Maybe Iroh wouldn't have to hold the shattered pieces of what was left of his family while he reformed his nation and made peace with the world.

He grabs his glider from where it rests against the wall outside the door.

Toph grabs him by the wrist before he can take to the skies. She keeps holding on even after he sets his staff back down. Drags him off to a quiet garden that's not too full of burnt debris.

She's always been good at keeping him grounded.

"It's fucking awful, isn't it?" she spits eventually. And that's the thing. It is.

Today was supposed to be a victory.

Instead, it’s just one more tragedy in a very long line of tragedies.

Aang can't do anything but nod. He's grateful that her earthbending allows her to know. That delicate reverberation down his bones and through the earth. He feels like if he opens his mouth now, something very ugly might come out.

Toph sighs. It's a very tired, world-weary sound for someone just on the cusp of being a teenager. Aang feels it too. Profoundly.

"It's not your fault, Aang."

Aang closes his eyes against the sting of tears and sees Zuko in that cell on the backs of his eyelids.

"That's not true," he chokes out.

"The hell it's not!" Toph is suddenly yelling, standing and stomping and shaking the earth beneath her feet and her clenched fists.

"It is." Aang doesn't open his eyes. "If I hadn't run away and gotten caught in that storm I could've stopped Sozin and prevented all of this."

“You’d have died,” Toph denies harshly. Flat and final as the earth.

It’s true and it hurts and the floodgates open. Because maybe he couldn’t save his people but he thinks maybe he could’ve saved Zuko. What good is being the Avatar if he can’t actually save _anyone?_

"I knew there was good in Zuko," he whispers tearfully. "He saved me once, you know? Katara and Sokka were sick and I got captured by Zhao and Zuko saved me. And he didn't even try to capture me after. He just let me go. I mean, he threw a little fire. But his heart wasn't in it. He wasn't trying at all."

The best thing about Toph is that for all her yelling and bullheadedness, she's really good at listening.

"And if you'd seen how good he was with swords, you'd never believe he'd failed to catch us so many times! And he never tried to hurt anyone! When he was trying to capture me, he always tried to get me away from other people. Maybe part of it was keeping me from having help, but I always got the sense that he didn't really want to fight other people."

He puts his head in his hands.

"He was angry. He yelled a lot. He threw a lot of fire around. And it was scary. _He_ was scary. But I think maybe," Aang swallowed heavily, "I think maybe he was just lost. And maybe if I'd reached out more… Maybe we could've been friends. Maybe I could've kept him from being hurt."

Toph sighs heavily and flops down next to him again. "I think that's a lot of maybes, Twinkletoes."

"Yeah," he says sadly and pulls his knees to his chest to curl up. Toph leans into his side and rests her head on his shoulder.

"You can't change the past," she reminds him, because she's never had much tolerance for 'what if's. "You just have to keep moving forward and try to make things better as you go."

Aang turns his head towards her milky stare. "But how do I make this better?" he asks with a tinge of desperation. He wants, so badly, for someone to give him some direction.

"You can't," Toph says flatly, crushing his hopes and causing him to turn away from her once more.

"Then what do I do?"

"Zuko's gonna have to do a lot of this work for himself. Which sucks boulders. But we can be there after. We can try to help if he'll let us."

"I don't know if he will," Aang admits.

"Well, if he won't let us help, he'll let Uncle help. And we can help Uncle."

There's the hope he was looking for. The direction he was looking for.

He may not be able to help Zuko right now. But he can help ease the burden on Iroh while Iroh helps Zuko.

After all, what is an Avatar for if not helping to restore peace and balance?

"Thanks, Toph."

"Anytime, pal."

That's when the yelling starts.

Aang and Toph run.

* * *

They keep Iroh from murdering Ozai. Just barely. Toph hasn’t been that afraid of someone’s rage since she had to tell Aang that Appa had been stolen. Still, she doesn’t let that stop her from grabbing onto Uncle’s arm and turning him away. Aang latches on to his other arm. Sokka leaves Azula to the White Lotus members and hobbles beside them.

They take him back to the hall to the infirmary and Sokka ducks inside, but Katara shoos everyone else away. Toph can feel her waterbending a large amount of water, judging by the smooth swaying shift of her weight, and doesn’t protest. 

The guard with the sword points them to an empty room with a tea set inside and they do their best to keep each other grounded. Toph clutches Aang’s hand and leans into Uncle and inhales the smell of the tea Uncle is clutching like a lifeline.

She doesn’t know what else to do.

She doesn’t know Zuko. Not the way Aang and Sokka and Katara do. And no one seems to know him the way Uncle does.

But Uncle loves him. Completely and wholeheartedly. And she trusts Uncle.

And regardless of the wrong Zuko’s done, she knows for a fact that he didn’t deserve this. No one does.

She doesn’t know what exactly is wrong. But she knows that it is.

She knows it’s bad.

She’d smelled the blood and the burning flesh and the filth. Felt the weakness in that delicately fluttering heartbeat and the thin, ragged breaths as ribs pressed to stone.

And she knows Katara is exhausted already from fighting Azula.

She feels an unsteady gait through the earth and knows Sokka has left his post in the infirmary before any of the others do. Knows that the news is bad before any of the others do. Sokka is reluctant and tired in a way he wasn’t when they got off the balloon. He hobbles like something weighs his shoulders down.

The door to the little tearoom they’re in opens quietly.

“Sokka?” Aang asks, and the fear in his voice tells Toph more than she thinks being able to see Sokka would.

It’s bad.

“Katara’s done everything she can for now,” Sokka sighs, quiet and tired and sad. Beside her, Uncle somehow stiffens and she can feel the way his body pulls in defensively, as though to ward off the total collapse that grief brings about. Bracing himself for a devastating blow.

“It’s not good, is it?” Aang asks. She wonders what Sokka’s face looks like right now for Aang to sound like that. She’s never heard him sound so defeated. She doesn’t like it.

Sokka shakes his head. “No.” He turns his head toward Uncle. “Katara says if he makes it through the night, his chances are good. But,” he hesitates.

Toph doesn’t like it.

She can feel the way Uncle hopes and the way he kills that hope.

“You should go sit with him,” Sokka tells him, finally. 

Uncle suppresses a sob, but she can feel the way his shoulders jerk and his lungs hitch. She knows and leans into him harder.

She doesn’t know how to comfort people. She's grateful she’s never needed to before, even as she curses her lack of experience when she needs it most.

Sokka hobbles forward and collapses on Uncle’s other side. Grasps his shoulder firmly.

“Maybe, if you’re there, it’ll remind him to hold on. Maybe he can find the strength he needs,” he says with a quiet, mournful hope.

Uncle sobs. Fully. Finally. Just the once. His body bows under the weight of his grief. Ready to snap. Already collapsing.

“Zuko’s the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. If anyone can pull through, he can,” Sokka says firmly. Toph believes him.

Uncle needs Zuko to be okay. Zuko needs Uncle to remind him to be okay.

Toph knows what to do.

She grounds her feet and carries the weight, just like she always does.

She pulls Uncle to his feet and she helps him to the infirmary and she sits him beside where Zuko is unconscious. She brings him the pot of tea and his cup.

She gets a blanket for Katara, where she’s collapsed on a cot in her exhaustion.

Usually this is Katara’s job.

But Toph doesn’t mind.

She can take care of her people when they need her.

* * *

It is one of Iroh's great prides that he has never ever confused Zuko for Lu Ten. That he has never considered Zuko as merely filling the void left by his beloved firstborn. That he has always had room in his heart for the both of them and that those rooms have always been separate.

He looks at the boy in the medical cot before him. The pale, waxy skin. The bruises. The filthy, untidy hair. The limp and unmoving limbs.

And he sees both of his children overlapped. Wrapped in the clumsy bandages of someone trying to save them.

_Too late. Too late. Too late._

His children are dead.

The candles gutter.

He breathes.

He reaches out to grip one bony hand in his. He’s never thought of his hands as being particularly large, but they are. He presses his fingertips to his child’s wrist and feels life pulse back at him.

He breathes.

Reminds himself that Zuko is still alive. His nephew is strong and willful and stubborn and vibrant and _he must continue to live, oh Agni, please._

He does not allow himself tears. He cannot give Zuko reason to believe that there is no hope. He has always done his best to never take away Zuko’s hope. Even out at sea, when the one thing Zuko hoped for was the one thing Iroh would do anything to keep him from.

So he breathes. And then he sings.

He sings of the girls at Ba Sing Se and he sings of spirits and he sings of the dragons of days past. He sings the old prayer songs to Agni and pieces of prayer songs he's heard to Tui and La. He sings the tales of Oma and Shu and the Sun Warriors and what he remembers of Ursa’s lullabies. He sings until his throat is hoarse and Toph brings him another pot of tea to soothe his throat.

He does not sing of soldiers. It feels too much like bad luck to sing the lullaby he sang to his lost son.

This child is not yet dead.

Zuko’s breath is shallow, like a guttering flame, and his pulse is faint.

“Agni, _please._ Do not take another son from me,” he pleads hoarsely, almost too faint to hear, his head bowed towards the teacup in his shaking hands, tears he tried to hold back streaming down his old cheeks. “I cannot bear it.”

It is agony to wait. To know waiting is all he can do. It takes forever for Tui, in all her glory, to pass across the sky and give way to her brother's light.

Iroh is humming when he hears Katara groan behind him, having run out of words. Gentle golden light streams through the windows. He turns to see her stretch languidly before remembering the events of the day prior and they both look back at where the sun shines on his nephew’s face.

Zuko’s chest rises and falls.

Iroh shares a relieved smile with her.

He made it.

They all made it.


	2. i wish you a house made safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Children deserve love. Iroh and Azula have a discussion. Katara struggles with the darker parts of her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go check out [afrosteampunkwriter's amazing papercraft art](https://afrosteampunkwriter.tumblr.com/post/633189828258889728/art-for-as-they-emerged-from-the-killing-fields)!!! I'm kinda dying from how awesome it is and they deserve waaaay more notes! And also alittlewightfox's [beautiful art](https://alittlewightfox.tumblr.com/post/633703631262203904/image-id-a-wide-shot-of-a-pool-and-a-stone) of Katara from this chapter!

Sokka sits next to Zuko in the room Katara has chosen to heal them in and tries not to be freaked out by his dead golden stare or the odd curl of his hands or his silence. It had been weird when he 'woke up' and still seemed asleep. It just continues to grow more unsettling as time drags on. The guy is mostly limp, propped up in a corner because Katara doesn’t want him laid down too much until she’s had a chance to heal the fucking lashes on his back.

He never thought he’d see the day he felt bad for Zuko, of all people.

He gets the feeling he’s only ever had half the story and it leaves him feeling wrong-footed, but also weirdly reassured. Because Iroh **loved** Zuko. Iroh was fiercely protective of Zuko. Iroh had had to be held back from marching back into the war balloon and _murdering his brother_ for Zuko. Sokka still isn’t sure Ozai would survive the month with how stone cold furious Iroh was.

Isn’t sure he deserves to.

Not for what he'd done to the world. Not for what he'd done to Mom. Not for what he'd done to Zuko.

Iroh had only left Zuko's side in order to do all the Fire Nation things that needed to be done immediately because Sokka had promised to stay awake while the others slept and keep watch over his nephew. Sokka hated to say that a man had more important things to do than hold vigil over a young man he considered a son, but Iroh honestly did have more important things to do than hold vigil over his nephew. He needed to be crowned Fire Lord (and fuck those cold-hearted Fire Sages for trying to insist that Iroh had been removed entirely from the line of succession and that either Azula or Zuko needed to be crowned. Were they _trying_ to destabilize their entire country???). He needed to end the war and put out any immediate fires and establish his rule over his people.

 _'And free some war prisoners,'_ Sokka didn’t dare to hope. He’d mentioned it before the final battle, but Iroh had been so distraught over Zuko and then so harried by his duties that Sokka hadn’t wanted to press too much.

He's afraid if he presses too much, pushes his luck too much, this whole illusion of victory and peace might shatter and he'll be back to fighting imperial firebenders midair above the Earth Kingdom, desperately trying to cling to Toph's hand long enough to pull off a miracle.

He looks back at Zuko to distract himself. Keep himself from thinking about what condition those prisoners might be in. The people he left behind. The people he failed. 

Looking at Zuko is kind of terrifying, though.

He’s _small._

It’s not an adjective he’d ever assigned to the guy. 

But he’s painfully thin now in a “he’d helped Katara wash and change the guy and counted his ribs and every notch of his spine in between all that” kind of way. But it's not like he was particularly big before. He's not even that tall.

_“He’s just a BOY!” Iroh had screamed at the war balloon as Jeong Jeong and Master Pakku held him back. Azula had sobbed weakly behind them in between an awful keening. “They are just CHILDREN! You were supposed to love them! Not destroy them!”_

Zuko is his age, he remembers vaguely. Azula is Katara’s age.

He’d always thought Azula was evil and insane. He wonders if Ozai ever hurt her like he hurt Zuko. It would explain a lot, even if it makes him sick to his stomach. 

Would he and Katara be like them if dad were anything like their father?

It makes him sick to think of Katara screaming and sobbing and _shattered_ the way Azula was in the aftermath.

He fucking hates this world and this war and fucking Sozin and his bright ideas.

None of them should have ever been put in this position. Katara should’ve never had to fight. She should’ve been safe at home being taught waterbending by Southern masters and still icing over his boots during snowball fights. Aang should be an old man in a temple full of other monks. Or at least have more old man friends than King Bumi. He shouldn’t be the last of his people. He shouldn't have been saddled with all this. Toph should’ve never known what dangling from certain death by her fingertips felt like. And Zuko should’ve had the chance to stay the kid in Iroh’s stories - playing instruments and excelling at swordplay and feeding _turtleducks_ of all things and sneaking his little sister extra pieces of fruit from the kitchen and accidentally insulting nobles when he tried to be nice. Unburnt.

Sokka shouldn't be sitting here, _useless,_ unable to protect all of them. _Any_ of them. If the invasion had been successful, Zuko would've been fine. He could’ve taught Aang firebending like he wanted to. Iroh would be happy.

Instead, Sokka's sitting with the guy who used to hunt him down - the guy who never got the chance to make amends - with his stupid broken leg that means he can't do anything to help out. Even if Iroh says that watching Zuko _is_ helping.

Yeah. Sure. Maybe if the guy ever returns to the real world. Then Sokka can make a dumb joke and they can be friends.

He laughs at himself. Friends with the jerk who chased them from Pole to Pole? No way.

Not after everything.

But it's not right. It's not fair. The world shouldn't be like this.

He looks out the window at the moon, waning just the slightest, and sighs. Drags his hands down his face.

"What would you do, Yue?" he asks tiredly, and misses her. Her calm. Her quiet strength. The way she was so much smarter than everyone around her. He does not miss the way she kept that to herself, never speaking out against the things that hurt her and belittled her. 

He misses making her laugh.

If Zuko hadn't taken Aang, maybe they could've kept Zhao from hurting the moon spirit. Maybe Yue would still be alive.

Maybe.

He and Zuko can't be friends.

Except Iroh said Zuko was only after them to impress his dad. While Ozai's no one worth impressing anymore, he used to be so terrifying. Ozai had hurt Zuko. Was Zuko scared of him? This whole time? Had it all been fear, instead of anger and hatred?

Yue, he remembers, had always wanted to try kindness and diplomacy before breaking out the war drums. He’d asked her, just once, what she’d do if they beat the Fire Nation. She wanted to send letters. He’d laughed.

He wasn’t laughing now. Now they were in it and peace was a reality and he was beginning to think she was right.

He thinks, maybe, she'd say the nobility of her sacrifice shouldn't be muddied by grudges or something beautiful and poetic like that.

So, maybe he and Zuko _could_ be friends.

Yeah. That could work. Make dumb jokes, play a few harmless pranks, and rehabilitate an angry jerk. Zuko would inherit the throne from Iroh eventually anyway. The world would be better off if they were friends.

Had Zuko ever even had a friend?

Ugh. Now he feels even worse for the guy. 

He and Zuko are gonna be best friends once the guy wakes up from all his trauma, Sokka decides. Even if he has to fight him. Fight him nicely, of course. Kill them with kindness, right?

There's gotta be a guy worth being friends with in there somewhere. He just needs a little work.

"I'm gonna be so fucking nice to you," Sokka swears to Zuko's limp, tortured body.

Aang snores.

Katara grumbles.

Toph shoves Aang onto his other side and snuggles closer to Katara.

* * *

He doesn’t know how to speak to his niece, Iroh realizes with resigned bitterness as he approaches her room. They have never understood each other and therefore never liked each other.

He knows she is angry and sad and broken in an entirely different way than her brother. That Ozai turned her from everyone but himself right from the very beginning so that anyone who would try to save her could not.

She has always been proud and cold and sharp. A prodigy. The brightest flame in the Fire Nation. A presence that cast a great shadow over their family.

She is so small in her bed.

He enters her room even though he knows she does not want him there. It is more important that he does not send her away for treatment without speaking to her.

He would’ve liked to have this conversation over tea, but the straightjacket that keeps her from bending does not allow for such niceties. She glares at him balefully, but there is defeated resignation in the curve of her proud shoulders and the dimmed fire in her eyes. She says nothing as he sits at her bedside, though it is clear she wants to.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Perhaps nothing can make this right.

What is necessary should not be so difficult.

He feels every one of his years as they sit together in silence.

“You seem tired, Uncle,” Azula finally comments idly, tone sharp and mocking in a way that is achingly familiar. An echo of his brother come to haunt him. “I suppose you found wherever Father hid dear Zuzu.” She looks away. “Did he kill him after all?”

He sighs. If he didn’t know better, he would think she was concerned.

Then again, he thinks as he reconsiders her affected apathy - and it is affected, he realizes from the way the fabric around her hands has bunched up ever so slightly - perhaps he does not know better, after all. He does not know this girl at all.

“Your brother yet lives,” he tells her quietly, gently. “Though just barely.”

“I suppose if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s surviving,” Azula mutters derisively, only now that Iroh is looking, he can see the way her whole body relaxes ever so slightly. He wonders if she even knows.

He laughs softly, just a breath of a thing, but agrees. Sheer spite and stubbornness, that child.

They fall into silence again.

“And me?” Azula asks eventually. “Will I yet live?”

Iroh closes his eyes against his sorrow. That she thinks he would have her killed... “Of course, my niece,” he answers, pained. 

She scoffs. At his weakness, perhaps. Or maybe she doubts his honesty.

“All I want is for you to heal.”

“Oh?” Azula inquires with one perfectly arched eyebrow, fire in her eyes once more. “Is that why I’m being drugged?”

“You know as well as I that it is for the safety of yourself and others,” Iroh says primly, with the edge of a eelshark smile. “You are quite the dangerous individual.”

It cheers her up and softens her flame ever so slightly. 

They lapse into awkward silence once more. It surprises him that she asks after Zuko and herself, but not her father who she has been so loyal to. Then again, perhaps it is not difficult to deduce from Iroh's presence alone.

“I do not know how to help you,” Iroh admits wearily. “I do not even know if I can help your brother.”

“Pathetic old man. As if I need your help.”

“That does not mean that I will not try.”

“Oh, you’re going to try now, are you?” she mutters under her breath, looking away from him.

He does not think he is imagining the bitterness in her tone. He closes his eyes against it, only to open them again immediately. He is always looking away. It is a habit he needs to end.

Still, he takes a steadying breath before he continues.

“If you will consent to it, I will send you to a place that will help you reorient your mind and banish the demons that haunt you.”

"But you're not sending Zuko?" she asks and Iroh realizes she is pressing ever so carefully for more information on Zuko’s condition.

He sighs.

"I fear an unfamiliar location with unfamiliar people will only worsen things with him. And he has been injured enough that it would comfort me greatly to have him seen by the palace physicians."

"And you like him more." She says it plainly. Factually.

His smile is wry, as he faces the ugly truth of why that is. 

“Yes," he admits, with a dip of his head, and cannot help but feel he owes her an explanation. "You remind me of myself, before my son died.”

Her expression twitches ever so slightly and he’s not sure whether she’s irritated or pleased when she asks, “And you don’t like that version of yourself?”

He laughs, though it is a short, singular thing. “That version of myself was blinded by the idea of glory. Blinded to all of the precious wealth I already possessed. Pride and greed are the flaws of dragons like us, my niece.”

“I’m no dragon, Uncle. Neither are you. That’s just a stupid nickname.” 

And _oh_ it hurts his heart to see that her brow furrows the same way Zuko’s does when he thinks Iroh has said something particularly foolish and bewildering and complimentary.

He has done wrong by his niece, thinking she is so different from the brother raised alongside her.

“You _are_ a dragon _,_ Azula. You are fierce and powerful and so very very smart. And you are more than what your father has made you. You deserve to be treated with kindness and respect. One of my greatest regrets is not taking you with me when I left with your brother.”

“Father wouldn’t have let you.”

“That doesn’t mean I should not have tried,” Iroh says with a finality that surprises even himself.

"I'd have just finished the job Father started."

"You would have tried, certainly. And perhaps you would have been successful. It was one of the reasons I used to justify it to myself. Zuko was gravely injured and needed to be safe."

"And Father wasn't hurting me."

"Not physically. But in other ways, yes, you were harmed. And I had contacts. People I could have asked to help you without making it obvious that I was involved." He could have had her watched. Done the bare minimum and asked for updates on her health.

“But you didn’t.” 

But he didn’t.

“No,” he admits heavily. “No, I did not.”

It’s quiet for a long moment, and then -

“Mother thought I was a monster too,” Azula offers like an olive branch. It’s too bad Ozai’s idea of an olive branch was an arrow aimed for a heart.

“Oh niece,” he sighs, wishing that he had not been so willfully blind all these years. “Your mother and I have failed you.”

* * *

A few days later, Iroh comes to tell them that he’s managed to find all the prisoners of war from the Day of the Black Sun, as well as a few from the invasion of Ba Sing Se, and ordered them brought to the palace as free men and women. That the first balloons should be arriving soon.

Everyone is already running for the courtyard before Iroh finishes inviting them to join him.

Sokka is practically vibrating with excitement as the first balloon that presumably holds his father aboard appears in the sky, just a tiny red dot rapidly getting larger.

He can't stop himself from rushing forward at the first person out, but neither can any of the others. It's even better when he gets closer and finds out it's his dad. There's no world where he'd ever be ashamed of nearly tackling his father to the ground. Especially when Katara is right behind him and actually _does._

His dad hugs them back just as fiercely. It makes the world feel right and whole and safe again.

Sokka is _not_ crying. He's not. His leg just hurts because he dropped his crutch. That’s all.

Aang just snuck those damn fire flakes into his lunch earlier, that's all.

"What, no hug for me?" comes a voice from further up the ramp. He turns.

"SUKI!" he squeals with delight, squirming out of his family's hold in order to fling himself into her arms. Her delighted laugh as she twirls him around is pure music to his ears.

She's just the best.

"Y'know, other people want off this thing," she teases. His dad laughs and hauls Katara up and leads them all back onto the solid ground of the broken courtyard.

Then Katara is flinging herself at Suki too and Aang is dangling off Suki's back and Toph is holding her hand with a grin. And then Bato and the other warriors from the Water Tribe and the swamp guys and all of their other allies are climbing out of a second balloon and…

And yeah. Sokka's crying.

He's crying super hard.

They're all okay.

A little roughed up, but they're all here. Alive and well and able to be reunited with their own families.

It feels like a huge weight off his chest. It feels amazing to tell Teo and Haru's dads that their sons are safe and back in the Earth Kingdom, helping with the rebuilding of Ba Sing Se after they’d helped him take out Ozai’s air fleet. It feels great to see Bato try to break his dad's ribs from the force of his hug. It feels fantastic to see the Kyoshi warriors reunited with their leader. It feels phenomenal to tell all of these guys that the war is over and they can go home.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Iroh off to the side in his new Fire Lord getup, smiling wistfully at them.

He thinks almost nothing of grabbing his dad by the arm and leading him over and introducing them. Doesn’t see the bewildered awe in the eyes of their allies as he facilitates the peaceful introductions between two nations' leaders. Doesn’t know how proud Bato is to see him in his element, reassuring the two leaders of each other's honest intentions.

Doesn't know that later, Bato pulls Hakoda aside and points all of that out just in case his friend missed the little details. Doesn’t know until much later that the Chief and his Second spend the evening discussing the future of their tribe in this peaceful world and Sokka's potential future as an ambassador.

For now, he's just happy.

* * *

Suki is out of prison and she has her girls and her friends are safe. She grounds herself with this because she honestly has no idea what the fuck is going on right now.

Sokka is talking to the Fire Lord.

Sokka is talking to the _Fire Lord._

And _smiling._

She stifles the urge to grab the nearest plausible weapon and let out a battle cry.

She does it for Sokka. And because this isn’t the man whose portrait hung ominously over them in the prison mess.

"So, the war is really over?" she asks Toph quietly.

"Pretty much. We're just waiting on everyone to acknowledge the ceasefire Uncle has sent out across the world. Then the peace negotiations. And everyone actually complying with them. So really the easy part is over and we're starting on the hard part."

There's a lot to unpack in that, but-- "Uncle?"

Toph grins. "Oh yeah, you haven't met him! The new Fire Lord. We've adopted him. Honorary Uncle!"

The new Fire Lord…

Uncle?

That's...a lot. 

She decides to process it later.

Except that leaves her with little else to do. Her warriors - _unharmed, oh thank Kyoshi_ \- look at her expectantly and her mind blanks. She has no orders to give them. She doesn’t know the lay of this land. She doesn’t have the first clue as to what she can contribute here.

"Suki?" Hiyo asks quietly.

"Stand by," Suki murmurs. "I need more information."

She turns back to Toph.

“So what’s the plan? What now?”

Toph shrugs. “We’re just helping out here. Uncle’s been in constant meetings arranging for Fire Nation troops to pull back safely. We’ve sent out messages to the North Pole and Ba Sing Se, but we haven’t heard back yet. It’s only been a few days. Katara’s on healing duty. Sokka’s got a busted leg. Aang’s bothering the Fire Sages about Avatar stuff. I’m playing spy.”

“And all of the rest of us? Are these people expected to stay here while negotiations are underway?” she asks.

 _‘Like hostages?’_ she doesn’t ask.

“No,” Toph answers. “Uncle’s not like that. If they want to leave, he’ll arrange safe passage for them.”

“You have a lot of faith in this guy.”

“He’s a good person. He’s helped us fight off Azula, he taught Aang firebending, and he led the rebellion to take back Ba Sing Se from the Fire Nation.”

“How’d a guy like that wind up Fire Lord?”

“He’s the old Fire Lord’s brother.”

“....You’re kidding me,” Suki says flatly, eyes wide and instincts screaming. Fingers reaching for a fan that isn’t there.

“Suki?”

“That’s _General Iroh?!_ The _Dragon of the West_ who led the _600 Day Siege on Ba Sing Se?!”_ she very nearly shrieks, except she’s smart enough to keep her voice down in enemy territory.

To say she’s alarmed is an understatement. To say she’s afraid is an understatement.

Toph grabs her by the wrist and drags her away from the group to a shaded area full of hay and one beautiful sight for sore eyes. 

Appa’s alright.

She'd spent so long in prison praying he hadn't been captured. So long praying he'd find Aang and that her sacrifices weren't in vain. The relief that hits her is staggering and she readily sinks her hands into thick white fur and presses her forehead into his side. He rumbles happily back at her.

It’s a lot. A lot hitting her all at once. She’s free, but the new Fire Lord is the Dragon of the West. Who Toph says is good. Changed, apparently. Except she doesn’t know if she can trust it. And Appa is okay. Throwing the fight with Azula to scare him away worked. It wasn’t all in vain.

Toph waits patiently for her to regain her composure.

“The war is over,” she says quietly.

“It can’t be that easy,” Suki replies weakly, shaking her head. She still feels caged. Surrounded by invisible bars. Limited by invisible shackles holding her here.

“It’s not,” Toph assures her with a sharp laugh. “We’re still kind of fighting the Fire Nation. Ozai ran a good internal propaganda campaign. Iroh’s not very popular. A lot of people don’t like that he’s ending the war without a clear victory to point to.”

“They’re worried about not having a victory?” Suki snarls, forcing herself to let go of Appa before she starts pulling fur.

“They’ve been fighting for a hundred years too,” Toph points out brusquely. “What was the point, if not for-”

“You can’t be serious,” Suki interrupts, baffled and surprisingly furious. “You can’t seriously be arguing their side!”

“We’re never gonna have peace if we don’t try to understand where the other side is coming from!” Toph insists unhappily.

“It doesn’t matter where they’re coming from!” Suki shouts with a roll of her eyes. “They’re wrong! They lose! We win. What else could there possibly be to understand?”

“Maybe what the point of it all was?” Toph asks sardonically, like Suki is stupid. “Their families have died fighting! And now their new Fire Lord is telling them that it was for nothing? That their sons and daughters and brothers and sisters and moms and dads died the _bad guy?_ ” Toph huffs and kicks at the hay and shakes her head. “You can see why he’s not exactly popular.”

“Because I care about the Fire Lord being popular with his people,” Suki comments flatly.

Toph grits her teeth and jabs Suki in the side with one tiny pointy finger. “What if I said you Kyoshi Islanders were all selfish assholes for hiding away and living it up while the rest of us suffered?”

Suki shoves Toph away. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. They did what they could to protect people. They kept up trade routes even as the Fire Navy harried their sailors and their merchants. They kept their people alive.

“No, really!” Toph laughs with her shark smile. “You guys sat back with your precious neutrality while the rest of the Earth Kingdom fought and died. And now you’re in it and you’re mad about it and that’s good! But they’ve been dying too. And they’re mad about it too.”

“Then they should be happy the war is ending! So no one else dies!” Suki nearly screams, frustrated and angry and pacing like a tigerdillo in a cage.

“They are!” Toph shouts back. “They just don’t like being called the bad guy! Nobody does!”

She has a point.

She has a point and Suki _hates it._

She hates it because the Fire Nation _should_ be ashamed. They _are_ the bad guys. They _are_ in the wrong.

Those are the facts!

But there were only ever two paths to peace. One was doing to the Fire Nation what they did to the Air Nomads. This is the other.

The easy way and the hard way. 

Her mom had always said the hard way was usually the path worth taking. That she would always learn the most from it. Well, mom, she’s learning.

She supposes she’s just grateful the Fire Nation is a sovereignty and they don’t elect their leaders like the Southern Water Tribe. 

She sighs and starts stroking her fingers through Appa’s fur again. She shouldn’t have yelled at Toph. ‘A good leader listens,’ the memory of her old commander reminds her. She’s just not sure how much she’s willing to listen right now.

She’s free and ready to fight and the fight is already over. It finished without her.

“Sokka’s missed you a lot, you know,” Toph says quietly after the silence has stretched past her patience. “Azula said some stuff. During the eclipse. He’s been worried out of his mind, trying to figure out where she took you.”

Suki swallows thickly.

It’s...good. Good to know she was missed. Good to know that they’d been looking. She knew they would be, when they figured out what happened. She knew they wouldn’t leave her behind. That they’d come rescue her. But as the days dragged on, especially after the eclipse, it had gotten a little harder to hope. The doubt had unleashed new fears, too. What if something had happened to them? What if they’d tried to come get her and gotten captured? Or worse, killed?

Azula had stopped by to taunt her about the failed invasion and her shiny new Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe prisoners. She’d managed to keep a straight face, but the worry had eaten away at her for weeks until Chief Hakoda had been transferred to Boiling Rock.

“And Uncle really is good now, whatever he may have been in the past.”

She finds that hard to believe.

“We’re all gonna be okay now.”

She finds that hard to believe too.

“But if anyone hassles you, I’ll help you beat them up,” Toph offers, slapping a fist to her palm in her own sort of peace offer.

Suki snorts.

“Sorry for yelling,” she says lowly, though the apology comes easy to her.

“Don’t worry about it.” Toph shrugs and waves it away. “I’d be pissy too if I’d spent months in a high security prison.”

“I don’t think twelve-year-olds are supposed to swear this much,” Suki chides teasingly.

“Fuck off,” Toph chirps cheerfully. Suki laughs.

Eventually, Sokka comes to find them, having finished his conversation with the actual Fire Lord.

Toph leaves her with a gentle punch on the arm.

"Hey. You good?"

She missed him.

"Yeah," she answers even though it might be a lie. "Just not really sure what to do with myself."

Sokka frowns thoughtfully and _hmm_ s a little and it's cute and also super weird after she's spent the last two months watching his dad make the same expression.

"Well," he says finally. "It's my turn to watch Zuko. You can come with and I can fill you in on everything that's happened?"

She nods and grins as brightly as she can past the uncertain exhaustion - _she's safe they're all safe_ \- and says "Sounds like a plan" even as she wonders why that name sounds so familiar.

Sokka leads her down a series of hallways and into a large room with a single window. There’s a bed in the corner and a haphazard arrangement of sleeping bags and blankets and pillows that look softer than anything she’s ever touched between the bed and the door. It smells like medicine.

There’s already someone in here on that bed in the far corner, by a barrel full of water.

A boy - all skin and bones and ragged hair.

The sun from the window catches his face.

_She knows that scar._

“Sokka, what the fuck?”

* * *

Katara keeps working at healing Zuko. It's difficult. Not like Aang's lightning injury difficult. Or even Sokka's broken leg difficult.

Zuko's injuries aren't even especially difficult to heal by themselves after that first day of rooting out infection and patching the most serious wounds. There's just a lot of them. And that's not even the problem! The problem is - 

It's -

It shouldn’t be - 

It’s not _supposed_ to be -

It's Zuko.

The problem is that it's Zuko and she doesn't _understand._

She keeps having to take breaks because she wants to _scream._

Iroh said that the reason Zuko betrayed them in Ba Sing Se was because he wanted to go home.

She just doesn't understand why he'd come crawling back to _this._

She'd been ready to forgive him. Ready to see the kid his Uncle saw. She'd been ready to fold him into their group with a hug and some of the seal jerky she stole from Sokka's pack, while they commiserated over the mothers they had lost to the Fire Nation. And he'd turned around and thrown it in her face and run right back to the people who keep hurting him and she's still _so fucking angry._

“Why am I even doing this?” she whispers to herself, and looks at his hollow face and scowls. “Why did you do this to yourself?”

There’s no response, no answer to the questions that haunt her, because of course there isn’t. 

“You can’t even hear me, can you?” she asks, choked with rage and she’s not sure why.

Uneven gold eyes blink back at her, eerie and empty. Sightless, but not blind.

Her hands shake with rage and pity and something else as she pulls the water again to try to get him to drink.

When she slams her water back into its tub, Zuko's re-hydrated ( _‘Were they even giving him any water down there?’_ and _‘He won’t drink he won’t drink why won’t he drink?'_ racing through her head) and the lashes on his back have mostly healed closed and the burns are no longer at risk of infection.

It's incredible progress for the fifth day of healing sessions, but she strangles that thought because she's not done yet. She still has to heal the burns and try to ease what's likely to be some nasty scarring even with treatment (and she shivers as she looks away from the scar on his face and _wonders_ ) and re-break and re-heal broken bones...

She honestly has no idea how he's survived this long. Infection should've killed him before they'd even gotten to him. He's literally the most stubborn person she's ever met, but this is...this is monstrous. Ozai is a monster.

A monster without bending. Helpless and locked away. 

It would be so easy to kill him now.

The moon is up.

She feels its power in her veins.

She could make him _beg._

She storms from the room, ignoring her frustrated tears and the startled looks on Sokka and Iroh's faces, intent on finding a nice isolated garden to unleash her wrath on.

She doesn't understand why she's so angry.

The war is over now.

Dad's back.

They all survived.

She should be happy.

* * *

Iroh fears the worst as he sees Katara run, and it must be plain on his face because Sokka tells him not to worry.

"She's dealing with her own issues. I'm sure Zuko's gonna be okay," he says kindly, too insightful for a boy his age. He wasn’t nearly so empathetic or thoughtful at Sokka’s age.

 _‘Except he’s not really a boy, is he?’_ Iroh wonders. He is already growing into a competent young man. Too soon. Too fast. These are children who have grown up before they should have and there’s a grief in that. One that weighs heavy on his bones.

And yet these children are kind. There’s hope in that. He can see a future in that.

Iroh helps him up off the floor and makes sure he has a secure hold of his crutch, but when Iroh opens the door, Sokka shakes his head and says he's going to go get his dad and see if they can help his sister together.

Iroh smiles, strained but genuine, and makes sure Sokka knows what a remarkable young man he is growing up to be.

Iroh stares after him as he leaves and hopes for many young men like him in the years to come.

Then he turns back to his nephew and staunchly refuses to allow his expression to fall into despair. 

His wonderful, stubborn, kind, gentle nephew who has been broken by the world in general and his father in particular - who has suffered things no man should suffer, let alone a child - lies in a soft bed with soft pillows and softer blankets and stares emptily ahead. He is thin and pale like the moonlight child Ozai had always treated him as. Nothing like the healthy pallor he had gained under Iroh's care aboard the Wani. Nothing like the sun-happy complexion he bore in Ba Sing Se.

Iroh runs a hand through Zuko's hair and begins to hum whatever songs come to mind, just as he did in those first weeks aboard the Wani. Those first weeks after Ozai had burned half his son's face - marking him forever in body, mind, and spirit.

Sometimes, in his dreams, he will allow himself to imagine what life could have been like if he'd stopped the Agni Kai that broke his second child. If he'd challenged Ozai for what was rightfully his. 

More rarely, in his dreams, he will imagine Zuko growing up beside Lu Ten like a true brother. The both of them leading Azula to her righteous path. He never dwells on what must have happened to his brother for these dreams to happen. Just enjoys the happiness of three children, unburdened by cruelty. These dreams are his happiest, even if he wakes from them crying.

Reality is a bitter tincture to swallow.

"Everything will be well now, Prince Zuko. You are safe and loved. We will make the world a kinder place," he repeats like a mantra, as though if he says it enough, it will reach Zuko in whatever corner of his mind he has hidden himself away in.

It becomes yet another part of his evening vigil.

* * *

Hakoda finds Katara in a small garden at the back of the palace, chin on her knees as she rotates her wrist and the water of the empty pond before her twists and swirls. Sokka's crutch clacks softly against the soot-covered floor behind him. 

Katara had wanted to heal him, Hakoda had heard, but Sokka had refused. Said she had a patient who needed her a lot more than his already set leg that would just have to heal the old-fashioned way. Joked that he couldn't get too reliant on her healing abilities.

Hakoda had seen the little prince just once, when accompanying the new Fire Lord on his way to find his children.

He agreed with his son.

Katara says nothing as they sit to either side of her.

She says nothing as Hakoda wraps an arm around her shoulders and tucks her into his side the way he used to when she was small and extra cuddly. Kya had always smiled at them like her heart was so full it would burst. Hakoda had always thought his genuinely might.

Sokka leans against Katara's other side and watches the water. If he made a joke about making a Katara sandwich… If Kya were sitting across from them…

It would be just the same, he thinks.

But his daughter is upset. And his son has grown up to be wise and more aware. And Kya is gone. 

Hakoda almost wants to make that joke. Almost wants to try to bring back those old memories. But he’s older and wiser now, too. He knows that right now, it would only rip open a barely healed over wound for all three of them.

Instead, he waits.

"I just don't understand," Katara whispers eventually, letting the water drop as she turns further into her father's embrace. "I don't get why his father would do that to him. And I don't get why Zuko would choose him over us."

Hakoda closes his eyes as his heart sinks. He doesn't know how to explain unloved children to his kids. Wishes Ozai weren't such a complete and total monster, if only to spare his children the knowledge that the world's problems didn't begin and end with war. Still, he tries to find the words.

"Sometimes," he starts hesitantly. "Sometimes, parents don't love their children. Sometimes they hurt them. And sometimes those kids get so twisted up inside by it that they can't understand kindness and love. They don't recognize it. They think what their parents do to them and how their parents behave with them is right. Because they are their parents and so they must be."

Hakoda looks at the garden around them. At the clear, empty water. The careful, tidy maintenance of the grass and trees and bushes. At the red and gold walls of the palace. At the cloudless sky, praying for the right words to soothe his daughter's heart.

He tries to imagine a little boy growing up here. Unloved and hurt and thinking it's his own fault. How lonely that little boy must have been.

He thinks of Sokka playing pranks and bringing home wild animals and pulling at Katara's braid and his cheerful enthusiasm and his desire to help. The way Sokka had reminded him that there was still joy to be found in life after Kya was gone.

He tries to imagine Sokka in that little boy's place and wants to tear the world apart with his bare hands. He tries to imagine taking his hands to his son and wants to vomit.

"And it gets so bad that those kids become desperate for that love," he continues roughly. "And those kids will do whatever they think they have to in order to get it. And it destroys them. And people like Ozai - parents like Ozai - sometimes, I think maybe they just enjoy the power of having someone that desperate for their approval."

He lets them think about it. He's not sure if it will help or not.

"That's so messed up," his son says, finally, strained and miserable. Hakoda nods, feeling much the same way. Katara sniffles loudly.

"It makes sense." 

Hakoda doesn't know what his kids are thinking of, specifically. What things they may be remembering. What horrors haunt them.

"I'm still so angry, though," Katara admits quietly and Hakoda squeezes her just a little tighter.

"Talk to me. Let it out, Katara."

"Just -" she bites out and her voice cracks like a glacier breaking. "It's just that I yelled at him about mom and he - he _empathized._ He _knew how I felt._ And he _apologized._ " She takes a deep breath that rattles at the cage of her rage.

Hakoda thinks about a boy who could empathize with Katara about her mother's murder and wonders what the hell happened in this quiet, haunted place.

"And I reached out to him and I started to trust him," Katara continues, unaware of the pain Hakoda feels for a kid he doesn't know. "And then he turned around and helped his sister almost _kill_ Aang."

Ah.

"And he did it all so he could come back here. Just to get tortured by his dad. And it's so _awful!_ And I'm mad at Zuko but also I'm so mad _for_ him and part of me thinks about how _easy_ it would be to get revenge for him and for mom and for everybody Ozai has ever hurt. How easy I could hurt him back."

Hakoda, heart in his throat, pulls his crying daughter fully into his lap and holds her to his chest as though he can hold her together. Sokka follows his sister and tucks himself up under Hakoda's arm so that he's holding both of them.

"It's okay," he chokes out, immeasurably grateful to be holding his children. "It's okay to feel that way. You're not a bad person for thinking that way."

Because she's not. She's not and he needs to make sure she knows that.

"You're angry about a lot of things and it's getting all mixed up together and it's hard, I know." How can he help her? How can he untangle all the hurt she's feeling? He doesn't know. So he starts at the beginning.

"It's okay to be mad at Prince Zuko, Katara," he says first and he's so proud of her good heart when she starts to protest even as he cuts her off. "It is. It's not really his fault, but they're still actions he chose. It still falls on him to apologize to you for his actions. Knowing what you know just helps you provide context for his actions. It's just there to help you forgive him when you're ready to do that."

"He's hurt," Katara says. And he hears the silent self-recrimination of _'I'm not supposed to be mad at him. He's suffered too much already. I should have already forgiven him.'_

"Which just means he hasn't had a chance to apologize yet. And with the way Fire Lord Iroh has spoken of him, I believe he will. Until then, it's okay to be angry. It's hard to forgive someone until you know they're sorry for the hurt they've caused. I know you, Katara. You have a good heart, just like your mother. When he's ready to apologize, you'll be ready to forgive him."

Katara sobs.

He feels Sokka's fingers flex against his back and knows these are words his son needed to hear as well. Though perhaps not for the same reasons.

"As for murdering the former Fire Lord," he hums, and feels a morbid amusement hum in his chest, "I can understand the urge. I've felt it myself. But ultimately, the actions we take are the only things that matter. There's no need to feel ashamed of _wanting_ to hurt someone. The shame comes when you act on it. You kids - you've been so brave and so good and I know that you'll continue to think before acting on your anger. And I know, every time, you'll choose the right course of action. And even if you don't, I will still love you. That doesn't stop. I will always _always_ love you both."

He takes a long, long moment to savor having his children safe in his arms. He gives them the time they need to think on his words and hopes he said the right things and gave them what they needed to hear.

When, finally, Katara lifts her head to look at him with red-rimmed eyes and a small teary smile, he feels like maybe they'll all be alright.

He rubs at her cheek with the hand that isn't holding Sokka, wiping away the last of her tears.

"And if you do decide that going after Ozai is the right course of action after all, let me know so I can help. Alright? I hear the new Fire Lord might be okay with it and I'd like to get my own hit in."

Katara laughs and Sokka jabs him in the side with a bony elbow and Hakoda pulls them all back in for another, happier, hug.

* * *

There’s a hand on his, warm and gentle. He’s not thirsty.

Someone tells him they love him and that voice is so familiar that he can’t help but be drawn to it. Can’t help but reach out towards it.

Zuko wakes up to his uncle's face and squints. Everything is red and warm instead of a safe, soothing green, but he thinks that might be okay if Uncle is here.

"Zuko," Uncle breathes reverently, smile wide and eyes filled with tears. His hands gently grasp his face and Zuko relaxes even though it's not the right name.

It's just Uncle and Uncle is Safe.

He lets his gaze drift, confused at all the red and gold.

It's not the Jasmine Dragon, but he's had dreams like this before.

Something glints in the firelight.

Golden flames crowning his Uncle.

_Flames shining off Father’s crown as he strikes down. He burns._

_Uncle burns._

Zuko screams.

* * *

"Sounds like that was some nightmare," Uncle says, scratching sleepily at his green sleeping robes as he makes them some tea. Zuko trembles where he sits curled in on himself at the table and focuses on the single candle atop it, trying to calm his breathing. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Zuko says quietly.

The candle flame wavers unsteadily.

Zuko breathes.

Uncle sets down a cup of tea to Zuko's right with a gentle thud of clay on wood before taking a seat himself. Zuko is content to wait for it to cool some and Uncle seems content in the silence between them.

The sound of singing drifts in through the open window and Zuko sits up and drags his cup across the table to him. The chamomile goes well with the mournful tune and does more to soothe him than he would ever admit, even if he does prefer his uncle’s jasmine tea.

"Talking about it may help," Uncle gently suggests once more, breaking the quiet. "I am always happy to listen."

Zuko knows he is. Uncle has listened to his shouting and crying and shameful tantrums for so long already.

"I dreamt that Father - the Fire Lord - he," it’s pathetic that he stumbles over what to call him now. That he tries to distance Ozai from the word Father and it somehow hurts _worse._ "I dreamt that he hurt me," Zuko admits quietly.

It's not anything new.

Father has always hurt him.

He usually deserved it.

"I dreamt that he hurt me and he- he-" _Don't think about it._ "-and I went to sleep to get away from it and when I woke up the Fire Lord was you."

It hurts Uncle. That much is obvious. But it is a nightmare and hurting is the purpose of it.

"You must know I would never harm you, Zuko," Uncle says like it's a question. Like he doubts Zuko's understanding of this fundamental truth of the universe.

"I know, Uncle."

No, Uncle never hurts Zuko. It's the other way around.

Zuko hurts his Uncle.

What a stupid, selfish, ungrateful child he is. If only he thought before he spoke. If only he learned his lesson.

_Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it._


	3. the weight of our deeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world keeps moving. Pain is easier to bear with good friends to lean on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! I had a big work thing come up this week which didn't help when election anxiety kept me from finishing the edits for this chapter. I'm hoping to get back to monday updates, but that depends on how quickly I can get the chapter four edits done. So I may wander a bit off schedule.  
> If you missed the fic art before, the links are now up in the notes of the first chapter!

Everyone starts taking shifts in what has become their main sleeping room, because no one wants Zuko to wake up alone.

This becomes a problem, because the world isn't content to wait for one person's recovery.

Aang considers this problem during his own shift, fiddling with a drop spindle he’d gotten from a seamstress and some of Appa’s loose fur while talking out loud as if Zuko might give him advice.

"So King Kuei wants me to be there for his meeting with Sifu Iroh in Ba Sing Se. Sifu Iroh says there's no way he's going anywhere while you're still recovering. Which I get, and King Kuei gets, but King Kuei's advisors won't let him come here, because they think it's a trap."

He frowns, tugging at the bison fur and unpinching his yarn methodically. It’s a little insulting, he thinks, that they’re so suspicious even though the Fire Nation gave Ba Sing Se  _ back. _ Not that they should have had it in the first place. But still. It just doesn’t make sense as far as traps go. He’d even asked Sokka to make sure!

"Now you're probably thinking 'Well, he's the king, isn't he?'" Aang tries to imitate Zuko's grumpy voice here. "He can do what he wants, right?"

He pretends to seriously contemplate Zuko's silence. He imagines Zuko saying something snappy and angry and smart.

"He's kind of a pushover, though," Aang adds. "His advisors just did everything for him before. He didn't even know there was a war until I told him!"

Here, Zuko would say something snarky and disparaging and kind of mean, followed by unintentional advice on what any good ruler would do. Sifu Iroh had told a story like that once - about how Zuko had been insulting the men on his ship and it had resulted in music night and improved morale. Even if Zuko hated music night. Sifu Iroh told a lot of Zuko stories. And if there was one thing Aang knew from Sifu Iroh’s Zuko stories, it was that Zuko had Opinions. Aang already feels like they’re close friends.

He puts on his best grumpy Zuko face. Something like…

"He should just come anyway! A good, strong king would lead by example and do what needs to be done, regardless of the risk! He needs to step up and take responsibility! Rah! Honor!"

Aang nods to himself.

"You're right, Zuko! And as the Avatar, it's my responsibility to help him make peace." He tilts his head, thinking, then slaps a fist against his hand. "I've got it! I'll just bring him on Appa myself! After all, what's better security than the Avatar himself?"

Toph comes in just in time, and Aang springs up and bounds out of the room with a cheerful "Thanks, Zuko!" and a wave.

He's got work to do. A solid course of action to take. A real plan.

He nearly makes it to where Appa is being kept before he realizes Iroh might like to know the Earth King is coming and makes a hasty about-face.

* * *

Toph doesn’t usually mind sitting with Zuko. He’s a captive audience, at the very least. And it’s kind of fun trying to figure out where his head is at based on his heartbeat, which alternates between fast and way too fast regularly. Now that she’s been on a Fire Nation ship at sea, it’s easy to imagine him traveling and fighting pirates and chasing Aang and yelling at sailors who only vaguely tolerate him but save his life on the regular. In her head, it’s fun and adventurous and not as scary as her fingertips being her only connection to the world or the Dai Li  _ changing _ people or tiny wooden boxes.

But sometimes it's just too quiet. The sound of someone breathing who won't speak to her. The echo of feet and whispers of servants who are ever so careful to stay unseen and out of the way. The way she's treated delicately, even if here it's more because people are terrified of those in the Fire Lord’s favor than because they think she's fragile.

It all reminds her too much of home. Stifling and frustrating and unbearable.

So she bullies Sokka into taking her shift and seeks out Uncle, who she can count on for a good cup of tea and soothing company. He doesn't underestimate her. He doesn't treat her like a child or like she's helpless or like she's Too Much. He just treats her like a person. Like she's any person in the world. 

Like he cares about what she thinks and what she has to say.

She finds him carrying something that's not a handful of scrolls for once and not heading to any of the meeting rooms either. It seems like he’s leaving the palace, actually, which is perfect for her.

“Hello, my young friend,” Uncle greets cheerfully, not pausing in his sedate pace as she comes up alongside him.

“Where are you headed today?”

“Well, I thought I would go to the temple to pray. It has been so long since I had the opportunity.”

“May I join you?” she asks, politely because she thinks that temple praying is one of those things that you maybe should be polite about. It’s also probably one of those things people do alone, though, so she’s prepared for a rejection.

“Certainly!” Uncle says instead. “Though I fear it may not be terribly interesting.”

“What makes you say that?” she asks, curious.

“It’s a small temple. It will likely be quite empty. And an old man’s prayers are predictable,” he says dismissively, with that small sad smile in his voice that Aang gets when he talks about the Air Nomads.

She’s never experienced that kind of longing loss. Maybe back when she vied for the freedom denied her, but even then, that’s something she managed to acquire. Aang and Iroh will never get their families back.

She nearly trips on a small set of stairs, thinking about the scale of things Aang will never get back, no matter how hard he tries or how much he manages to recover, and steps too hard to compensate.

The ground echoes back in response.

“Small, huh?” Toph comments wryly as she feels out the tall building he leads her to, all typical sharp Fire Nation edges - high, pointed ridge and curling spikes along the eaves, sturdy clay shingles molded and baked in fire, gold-coated stone delicately carved and cared for and  _ old. _ The gold leaf is cracked and reapplied in so many spots like a delicate little eggshell. 

Uncle chuckles. “It is possible my own view is biased.” 

“Maybe just a little,” she teases. “So this temple is a religious thing?”

“Somewhat. There is a shrine to Agni in the main hall, surrounded by smaller shrines to the spirits of our Nation. However, in the side halls are memorials for members of the royal family. My wife and son’s ashes are there,” he tells her as they walk, and she appreciates the thought.

She maps out what she can feel with that information with every step of her feet up the stairs. The big room in the middle with a thousand tiny stones and a great brass basin must be the shrine to Agni, the etched tablets and small metal bowls before them around the walls on a short shelf are probably the shrines to the minor spirits, and the side halls with old scrolls and dozens of urns. Uncle’s entire family is in there. Everyone he’s outlived.

He’s only got Zuko and Azula now.

“We’re here to visit them?”

“Indeed!” he says cheerfully, and then, very softly, “I’ve missed them.”

Uncle takes off his shoes at the entrance. Toph, already barefoot, bends away the dust layer she keeps on her. She’s never cared for propriety before, but something about the gesture feels right.

This place is silent, but for the sounds of a large fire in the center of the temple that Uncle mentions is maintained by the Sages, while the rest of the temple is maintained by a handful of custodians.

Their footsteps echo faintly and there is so much here for her to feel.

The floors are polished stone. The pillars are carved stone. If it weren't for the heat of the central fire or the thick smell of smoke and incense from candles and burning herbs and perfumed wood alike, she'd almost think it was one of the rare Earth temples still standing. Or at least, what she'd always imagined of the temples. Her parents would never let her near one.

Myorin the Wise, her tutors had said, had denounced the temples of the Earth, claiming that only Air and Fire were arrogant enough to seek places of worship when they were surrounded by the element they were devoted to. That Water had no need for temples in order to embrace their nature and Earth should be the same. That a true master would immerse themselves in what was already given by the earth.

After all, why build temples when the mountains exist? Why seek divinity in a building when the earth is already beneath your feet? When the ice holds your weight? When the ocean carries your ship?

Even in war, the earth was there. You couldn’t carry a temple with you when you fled invading forces, but the cave could hide you. The rockslides could delay or kill your enemies. The mountain and the gorge could stand between you and those who pursued you.

Her tutors had never intended her to take that lesson to mean she should practice her bending within the ground and inside the hearts of mountains.

Uncle kneels before the great brass basin and Toph joins him as heat pours over her and dries her skin and sinks into her bones. She feels his hands and forehead touch the hot floor as he murmurs a prayer in the lilting staccato of the oldest Fire Nation dialect. She doesn’t know what he says, but it sounds mournful. It’s followed by a whisper of a hope for the safety of his nation and the balance of the world and the health of his family. She echoes that, even if she can’t echo the ritual prayer to this spirit who isn’t hers yet is.

The sun may fuel the Fire Nation, but it belongs to the world. A lot of people don’t understand that, even though they know it intuitively as part of the balance they seek. She doesn’t get this religious sort of worship, but that much she can understand.

Then Uncle is standing and walking away, off to the side halls, and their footsteps echo strangely as the fire behind them roars dully and its fuel pops and cracks and hisses.

He kneels before a stone urn filled with the not-dirt not-dust feel of ashes and she kneels beside him silently. The smell of incense grows stronger. He places something soft but heavy on the metal plate before the urn.

“Hello, my son. It has been some time since I have been home to see you,” he whispers, old grief heavy in his voice mingling with the fresh new grief she’s become so accustomed to hearing when he visits Zuko at night, and Toph is abruptly struck with the realization that this is something private and personal and that Uncle is too nice to tell her so.

She whispers a soft thanks to Lu Ten - she's under no illusions that without his influence in both life and death, Uncle would not be with them - and excuses herself quietly to go wander.

Uninterested in the other royal memorials, Toph weaves her way back through pillars decorated with chunks of gold-plated iron forming long twisting creatures with jeweled eyes and great maws filled with sharp teeth. She thinks those are probably dragons. So that's what they're shaped like. More curiously, surrounding the central flame, there's a large circular pattern of hundreds of tiny polished stones composed of a dozen different minerals. There's some sort of pattern - circles and squiggles and spikes.

She remembers the earliest lessons her parents had given her on gems and precious minerals. Her mother had caught her running her fingers along her jewelry and sat her down and taught her to recognize them by feel.

The good memories sometimes made her parents' restrictions both easier and harder to bear. Stinging deeper than a spiderwasp ever could.

The gem-floor, she reminds herself. Drags her mind back to the present. Feels out the variety of complex lattices behind her.

Amber and calcite. Sulfur and feldspar. Chunks of quartz and veins of gold. Heaps of garnets of a dozen different types - almandines and pyropes and spessartines and more. She can feel the iron in them now like she couldn't before with her mother. Citrine, zinc sulfides, fire opals. Rubies. Topaz and sunstones and tourmaline and some of the biggest diamonds she's ever gotten to run her senses over.

She asks Uncle what it is once his whispers to the dead have faded away and the mournful silence has become overbearing.

"It's the sun," he answers, voice still weighed down with a deep sorrow she hopes she never knows. 

The sun, she knows, is warmth on her skin. Too warm in the summer and not warm enough in the winter. The sun is warm wet dirt under plants in the garden. Her feet moving like Aang's over the hot afternoon pavement and her cheeks and shoulders burning under her mother's cool touch.

_ "The sun is in the sky," _ her mother had told her in that tone that said she was sad that Toph couldn't see.  _ "It's untouchable, but beautiful," _ her mother had said like she was talking about something else.

Her tutors said it was a burning disk in the sky when she asked what it looked like. The source of fire.

She'd imagined something more violent. What with the war. Like the jagged cuts of the earth. The faults that chewed at each other. Battle spikes and boulder throws. Volcanoes.

_ Fire is life, _ Uncle had told Aang.

She's never seen the sun before.

But her mother was right when she said it was beautiful.

She thinks maybe she'd like to visit the Earth temples after all if they use stone like  _ this. _

She wonders if there are even any Earth temples left.

She wonders what other pictures out there are made of stone. What more she might be able to see, in her own way.

She thanks Lu Ten for this too.

"Tell me about him?" she offers as she helps him to his feet so they can leave, partially out of curiosity and partially because she hopes happier memories might help alleviate his pain.

"Lu Ten was a wonderful boy. Brave and clever and friendly. He always used to beg me for siblings to play with. He adored Zuko and Azula. He liked to steal them away from their lessons to go teach them how to dive at the beach and how to fish and string together seashells. Once, he even helped them catch a batch of turtle crabs! Oh, how Ozai used to complain! I would scold Lu Ten just to satisfy my brother sometimes. Not that my son ever let that stop him..."

Uncle’s steps get lighter as he speaks and remembers. She’s glad this helps.

She’s glad there used to be happiness and noise and play in this palace. It gives her hope that maybe there can be again.

* * *

Suki finds Sokka where she always seems to find him these days.

The prince’s room.

She still doesn’t know how she feels about it. About all of this, really. Toph had a point, about the Fire Nation. She knows there are two sides to every story. She’s just not sure she’s ready to know the other side. She hadn’t spoken much to the other prisoners at Boiling Rock for a reason.

How can you fight, when you can’t be sure of-?

She shakes her head and leans against the doorframe to watch Sokka for a moment, lost in his thoughts enough to be unaware of his surroundings.

He’s grown his hair out.

It’s a silly thing to notice, she thinks, when he’s changed in so many more ways than that. He’s stronger and smarter. And sadder.

The hair makes him look more like his dad now, though, when he takes out his hair tie. It hasn’t been that long, but they’re both older now.

He’s looking at the prince, who now has a full head of hair that hides his horrifying scar.

“Well, at least he doesn’t have that awful ponytail anymore?” she offers as a greeting, smiling to hide her own unease.

“Oh man, that thing was hideous, wasn’t it?” Sokka crows, laughing loudly.

She glances over at the prince, who doesn’t even flinch at the sudden noise. His golden eyes shine eerily in the afternoon sun, staring blankly through the hair that hangs over his face now. 

She looks away from him, uncomfortable.

Is it pity that stays her hand? Or the shame of attacking someone so utterly incapable of defending themself? She doesn’t know, so she swallows her anger and focuses on Sokka.

“How’s the leg?” she asks, shrugging away from the doorframe and finally entering the room. He’s got clay mould around his leg now, courtesy of Toph most likely.

“Itchy,” he complains, instantly grumpy as she sits beside him. “You would not  _ believe  _ how itchy it is. Aang caught me trying to scratch my leg with my chopsticks and tried to help scratch my itch with earthbending. Then Katara caught us doing that and spent  _ forever _ yelling at us for it.  _ And then _ she got Toph to make this damn thing tighter.”

“Katara can’t heal it up for you?” she asks, thinking about the Chief’s stories of Aang’s survival and the overheard whispers of the palace staff about Ozai’s habit of torturing his son. Aang’s not dead and Zuko doesn’t look that bad off, so Katara must be a miracle worker.

“Oh, she did,” Sokka grumbles unhappily, sinking into Suki’s side with a huff.

“Then why-?”

“ _ Apparently _ , bone is harder to heal. She wants to give it some time to set just in case, so it doesn’t break again as soon as I try to use it. Or so she says.  _ I _ think she just wants to torment me with itchiness.”

“I don’t know if Katara would-”

“I think Toph is in on it too.”

Suki tilts her head, then nods. Yeah. That sounds like Toph.

“So when are you supposed to take it off? I think I still owe you some lessons, you know,” she says with a wink.

Sokka sits back up, grinning brightly, and her insides go all gooey for a moment.

“Just wait until you see how much better I’ve gotten!” he cries, waving his arms for emphasis. “I trained with this sword master here in the Fire Nation for a little while a few months ago, and not to brag, but I’m pretty good.”

She giggles. He looks so happy and confident and he’s back to trying to convince her he’s cool and suave even though he already knows she likes him. And that she already knows he’s a goofball and a dork.

She likes that he tries to impress her anyway.

“Uh-huh,” she agrees, with just the right amount of teasing skepticism to send him further into defending himself.

Just like that, they’re comfortable together.

The room is red and gold, but it’s blue and green and orange as well. Her friends are here. Right where it matters most. With her. They’re in the Fire Nation, but with Sokka around she can finally breathe and appreciate the ocean winds and the way the summer humidity reminds her of home.

Talking to him is so easy, even when it should be hard. Even when she wants to keep the details of life in prison from him. Even when she knows he feels guilty for not helping her sooner.

Even when they’re here, in the Fire Nation Palace, sitting next to the Crown Prince.

“Do you think he can hear us?” she asks, finally indulging her own morbid curiosity.

Sokka gets that cute, thoughtful frown on his face again. “I think he  _ can, _ I just don’t think he  _ is.” _

“Huh,” she says back, and leans into his side again. She guesses that makes sense, when she thinks about how empty his eyes are and how he doesn’t move.

She knows Sokka feels obligated to watch over the guy. She doesn’t get it, not really, but she accepts it. Still.

“I know you wanna stick around for a while and help out, but what comes after, Sokka?” she asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, looking away from her. Looking into the distance with eyes like the prince.

“The girls want to leave,” she says.

Sokka swallows loudly in the following silence. 

“Are you going with them?” he finally asks, and she knows a lot hinges on her answer. Except-

“I don’t know,” she whispers. Because the thought of being separated from them again carves a cavern in her chest, but the thought of leaving Sokka and Katara and Aang and Toph again… Her hands shake, when they never have before, and a stone sits heavily in her stomach.

Sokka nods, accepting that, but he still doesn’t look at her.

“Aang’s going to the Earth Kingdom for a week or so to get the Earth King for peace negotiations,” he says instead.

“Are you going with him?” she asks, her turn with the question, and wonders what it would be like to be alone in the Fire Nation again.

“Toph and Katara are.”

“But not you?”

“No.”

“Why?” she asks, even though she’s relieved.

“Someone has to stay.”

“Why you?” she asks, wondering how he can bear to be separate from them.

“I...I don’t know,” he answers hesitantly, and she wonders if maybe he can’t. If maybe he feels as torn between two places, two groups of people, as she does.

Speaking of. 

“When your dad and his fleet go home...are you going with him?” she asks.

He shrugs, and it jostles her away from him, but she doesn’t mind. “I guess so?”

“But you haven’t decided for sure.”

“I…” He sighs. “No.”

“You could stay with me. We could figure out where we’re going together,” she offers, hoping and squashing that hope in a tiny box. She’s not a child and she’s never been an idealist. She knows the world isn’t kind.

“That sounds amazing, Suki, but… The tribe - It needs…” He looks at her, finally, as he says it. As he hesitates.

“Hey.” She twists so she’s facing him more directly and reaches out to hold onto his shoulders. “I understand.”

She looks him in the eye for a long moment, smiling even if she’s sad, because they’re not children and they’ve never been idealists. Not like Aang and Katara.

“I know what it is, to feel responsible. I just wanted to put the option out there.”

“I really do appreciate it, Suki.”

“I know, Sokka,” she says, and kisses him on the cheek. “It’s okay.”

She means it. It’s okay that they don’t know what they’re doing right now. They’ll figure it out, eventually.

Maybe they’ll even figure it out together, if she sticks around long enough.

* * *

Flying into the Earth Kingdom, Katara feels restless. Looking at the sky passing by used to be so relaxing. How many times had she fallen asleep to the wind in her hair and the sun on her face and the clouds flowing past?

She finds it hard to sleep now.

It’s not guilt that churns in her stomach, she knows. It’s something else. Something that leaves her tense. Something that hounds her footsteps and haunts her dreams and digs its icy claws into her heart.

It’s why she couldn’t stay, even when Sokka asked her to. Even when she knows Dad would want her to. Even if Iroh, fearing for his nephew, had asked it of her. The more she moves, the further away that feeling stays. 

There's nothing more she can do for Zuko or the newly-released war prisoners and she  _ needs _ something to do. She can’t stand just sitting around, waiting for something to happen. After so long moving and fighting and working, she doesn't know how to just  _ be _ anymore. 

She's pretty sure Toph's just bored.

So Katara gets dropped off close to where the frontlines had been, where a lot of the injured soldiers still are and where she can get an on-the-ground read on the peace progress. Toph and Aang head on to Ba Sing Se without her.

Toph had said something about smashing some heads in if the Earth Kingdom generals started getting stupid ideas since Aang was too much of a pacifist to do it himself.

Katara kind of approves.

_ "You're going alone, aren't you?" Sokka had asked, arms crossed but surprisingly at ease. _

_ "I can take care of myself!" she had insisted defensively, throwing her pack up onto Appa with more force than was necessary. _

_ "I know," Sokka had said simply with a shrug. "Does Dad know you're going alone? Does he know you’re splitting off from Aang at all?" _

_ "Dad would freak out," Katara had said instead of 'Please don't tell him.' _

_ "So that's a no." _

_ "He wouldn't let me go." _

_ Sokka had raised one eyebrow. "Katara. I don't think Dad could  _ **_let_ ** _ you do anything anymore. Like you said, you can take care of yourself. He knows it just as much as I do. But he still worries. He's Dad." _

_ It had warmed her, to know Sokka knew she was capable. That he would say it so blatantly. _

_ “I can’t convince you to stay, can I?” _

_ “No.” _

_ He’d sighed, deeply, and she had felt a little guilty. She knows Sokka is struggling too. _

_ "So. You want me to tell him after you've left? Or wait until you get back?" he’d asked. _

_ "What he doesn't know won't hurt him," she'd said eventually. _

_ Sokka had just shrugged in acceptance. _

She shoves down the lingering guilt and gets moving.

The camps are orderly chaos. She starts off in one of the larger Earth Kingdom encampments, offering her services as a healer, and is surprised to end up healing more stab wounds than burns. But then, not everyone can be a bender.

They offer her a cot for the night and a hearty meal in the morning before she moves on to the next camp.

She doesn't say that the next camp she intends to visit is across the battlefield. She imagines there would be some protest to that.

The Fire Nation camp welcomes her warily, but surprisingly just as readily as the Earth Kingdom camp. Here, the injuries are more gruesome. Burns and cuts she's used to, but here there are crushed limbs and shattered bones and soldiers who have been impaled on crude earthen spikes.

She throws up the first time she catches sight of one of the crushed bodies being moved out of the makeshift infirmary to the morgue tent. A kind young soldier pats her on the back and holds her hair away from her face and doesn't speak because what can either of them say?

She learns the Fire Nation holds funeral services at sunset. That they burn the bodies upon great pyres. That it signifies the release of the spirit from their mortal body back into the warmth of Agni's grace at the end of their long journey.

She thought maybe these soldiers would be angry about the war ending, but mostly they're just...tired. And  _ relieved. _ The generals back at the palace had talked about stolen glory and the betrayal of their people's sacrifices and how ending a war they’re winning was weak-willed cowardice. The soldiers, though, mostly just seem to want to go home.

She stays there for two days, healing what she can. She cries the first time she realizes she can't heal a woman's leg and the Fire Nation medics will have to amputate it.

She'll never be able to think of earthbending quite the same.

She only runs into trouble on the way back across the battlefield to the next Earth Kingdom camp. A scout saw where she came from and the officer in charge accuses her of being a spy, a Fire Nation sympathizer, a trick, a trap, an assassin. She reminds him that she's a waterbender, that she's lost family and friends to the Fire Nation, that there is a ceasefire in place and a peace treaty in the works, and that first and foremost she is a  _ healer _ and she will  **not** stand idly by when there are people who need her help. No matter which side those people may have been fighting for before.

This is a choice she has made. The world may not be kind but  _ she _ has chosen kindness. She could hurt. She could rend and tear and make her enemies  **stop.** Permanently. But she has seen that path taken by another waterbender and she has  **refused** . 

She thinks of a prince who hurt her lying vulnerable in a cell, unresponsive and beaten to near death by the person he had betrayed her for. She thinks of how she chose to help him.

She thinks of how she has chosen kindness again and again as though she could  **make** the world kind if she only kept trying. 

And now the war is over.

Maybe the world is finally choosing kindness after all.

She still has to bring up her "personal friend, the Avatar" in order to get the officer to let her into the camp. Then she funnels her frustration into healing once more.

The Earth Kingdom, she finds, buries their dead. Born of the earth and returned to the earth, is how their rites go. 

The Water Tribes sent their own dead out to sea under Tui's gentle watch. She makes a note to ask Aang about the Air Nomads' rites. She doesn’t know what good it will do, but it feels important.

She bounces between more camps for the next week before meeting back up with Aang and Toph and King Kuei. They greet her with happy hugs that she slumps tiredly into.

Sokka, when they return, takes one look at her and shakes his head and drags her back into the communal sleeping room where Zuko still stares vacantly ahead. Beside him is Dad, who takes one look at her and declares there will be no more trips to battlefields until she's taken more of a breather. She wonders if Sokka told on her. Or if she looks as worn and drawn and emptied out as she feels.

"You're running yourself ragged, Katara," he says, hands on her shoulders holding her up as much as focusing her on what he has to say. "You're still young. You shouldn't have to see these things. You shouldn't force yourself to see these things. You've done your part. Now let everyone else do theirs."

Sokka glances at her sidelong once Dad isn't looking and they trade amused looks. They both know Dad can't stop her if she really decides to go out again.

He's right though.

She shouldn't have had to see what she's seen. She shouldn't have had to do what she's done. Why had everything been on them?

She's tired.

In body and soul.

She'll rest. Just for a bit. Just a little while.

Just until she needs to choose kindness again.

* * *

With half the group gone, Suki couldn’t keep avoiding this whole guard duty rotation they’ve taken up. Not if she wanted Sokka to actually get some sleep.

Even now that they’re back, she feels obligated still. Katara is exhausted and hurting and she needs time with her family - with her dad and Sokka and the people of her tribe. Aang and Toph are so busy trying to make this peace thing work, they hardly have a moment to sit and catch up, and they need to sleep too.

The Fire Lord worries that with the Earth Kingdom delegation here, certain members of the Fire Nation nobility may find it an opportune time to try something. The prince is a vulnerability. The Earth Kingdom, an easy scapegoat. The Fire Lord may be formidable, but he is old and loves his nephew.

If anything were to happen to them, Azula would take over.

The thought of Azula taking the throne has her seeing red.

More red, anyway.

(She wonders, briefly, if the decorating scheme of the Fire Nation is what makes them so angry or if it’s symbolic of their rage.)

So Suki takes over, to let her friends rest and to prevent the worst. 

She finally feels useful.

She coordinates with the royal guard with a cool smile and forces herself not to look away from them. Not because she’s afraid. No. It’s something else that she can’t quite name. Can’t quite face. Hiding behind her, dogging her footsteps and tugging at her shoulders. She pretends it’s anger. Outrage. It’s something else.

Hiyo finds their confiscated armor and weapons and returns hers to her. They agree that the warriors will act as extra security for the Earth Kingdom delegation and will leave with them, when the time comes.

Whether she’s leaving with them is still uncertain. Hiyo smiles gently at her, understanding, and leaves her to what she feels she has to do.

In the heavy quiet of night, bladed fans in her belt and face paint on, Suki sits with the boy who burned her village down and thinks.

She thinks about the end of a war that ravaged the world for a century, about being free not just of prison but of the ongoing pain and suffering that followed in the wake of every battle, about how she can go home but isn’t sure she will, because there is still more help she can give. 

She thinks about the refugees and whether or not they will go home now that they are able - if home is something they left behind or carried with them.

She thinks about how the war is a double-edged sword. A careless swipe of her bladed fans. How often in training she had hurt herself in trying to harm her opponent.

For the first time, she thinks about how the war had hurt the perpetrators as well as the victims. She thinks about how the new Fire Lord had spent his evening vigil with his nephew speaking of drafting new legislation - outreach for returning soldiers, bettering the Fire Nation's health institutions, programs to help war widows.

New orphanages for children whose parents died fighting.

The enemy had never been people before.

The enemy  _ couldn't  _ be people. Not until the aftermath came about. It was the only way she - they - could keep fighting without freezing.

It was only about survival until you could start living.

Now the war is over. Now they are living.

Now the enemy is people.

Now the whole world has to cope with what they've done.

Now Suki has to cope with what she's done. 

She's not sure how she can. She'd killed the enemy. The enemy had been people. She'd killed people. 

She'd done it to survive. No one would fault her. But she'd killed people.

She isn’t sure if that realization has hit the others yet. Or if they've compartmentalized that, too. Locked it away in a box and shoved it down so they didn't have to  _ think about it. _

It might be better that way.

She looks at the boy who burned her village down and thinks.

She thinks about spirit tales and lost souls. The stories of soldier spirits guiding and protecting their kin, waiting for an end to the fighting so that they could rest. 

She thinks about the way some villagers she'd escorted to Ba Sing Se had lit candles in memory of those they had lost to guide their souls back home.

She remembers the way  _ her _ village would light candles during storms - a prayer for those at sea to find their way safely to land.

She looks at the boy who burned her village down and doesn't see an enemy. 

She sees a person. A lost soul scarred by the war, unable to find his way back to safe harbor.

Maybe she has killed people. But it’s her duty to protect those who can’t protect themselves. And she’ll do what it takes to fulfill her duty.

She lights a candle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment and tell me what you liked! And hey, if you have questions or would like more info on some of the scenes here, feel free to hit me up at turtlewritesthings on tumblr! I've been having a lot of thoughts about Suki lately...and Katara's choices on healing and fighting...and I've been working out a more in-depth post on religious movements within the Earth Kingdom...  
> Yeah.  
> I have a lot of thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I supposed all that's left rn is those sweet sweet comments. Tell me what you liked! Go drink some water.  
> Also feel free to come hit me up on tumblr! I'm turtlewritesthings!


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